A Brand of Hospitality
by barbecuedphoenix
Summary: Nevra has always been a tease. But when he returns from a month-long mission abroad, bearing tales of dark-eyed dancers with curves that rolled like the desert dunes, the unamused Guardian decides that it's about time she reminded him why he returned home to her. She has her own techniques that her lover isn't going to find anywhere else in this world.


Now this was a fun request, written for Eldarya Sin Week May 2017. The prompt: how Nevra would react to the fine human art of... the lapdance.

I'll confess that the spin I put on this request was a direct result of all the internet videos I watched for, uh, research. In my humble opinion... there's more than one way to give a good lapdance. ;)

* * *

 **A Brand of Hospitality**

He had been away for a month.

That fact alone was hard enough on her, but of all the places that their superiors had to send him to, it was the Tamarisk Country. Situated far south in the rugged interior of the Continent, it was a place of scorching sun and frozen nights, of whiplash winds that scoured the great cliff-side cities with billions of needlepoints of sand, of legendary bazaars and hidden temples perfumed with wood smoke that made you talk to the spirits. Home to ferocious warriors and demon dervishes, road-tested traders and dueling poets, mystics and silent sages from the four corners of the Continent.

And veiled dancers who could stop a man's heart with one shake of their hips.

This last part was what Nevra insisted on telling her over their first dinner together in weeks.

"So what dropped next? The veil, or the skirt?" the Guardian asked, drilling the point of her knife into her steak.

"Neither," Nevra replied, with an unapologetic grin over his wine glass. "That would have spoiled the routine. Say what you like about the qarînah, but they hold onto their secrets till the end." He put down the glass, then reached across the table; his long fingers folded over her hand, turned it over to massage her palm and fingers, heat blooming where his callused thumb pressed circles into her skin. "Besides, I couldn't stay for long. That night only made me feel lonesome."

"I'll bet," she quipped, turning her hand again to take firm hold of his fingers. The vampire raised an eyebrow, but kept his smile.

This was a common routine for them: him spinning tales to try to stoke her jealousy, and her either shooting down his attempts or returning the favor with stories of her own. But tonight, she was definitely _not_ in the mood to entertain stories of him being waited on hand-and-foot by succubus hosts. Not when her own needs were burning a low fire through her belly.

She wasn't a dancer. But tonight, she was going to show him a trick that only humans would know.

The Guardian rose from the table, taking his hand with her. "Now if you're finished with your tall tales, my 'lord', _get in the bedroom_."

* * *

Her black silk choker whispered one last time around her neck when her lover called out from the bed:

"So. What do you plan on doing to me tonight, inquisitor?"

"Something you've never seen before," she served back lightly, bending forward and squinting at herself in the smoke-shrouded mirror.

"Really? If I knew I was going to be drunk under the table, tied to a bed, and interrogated—again—I would have taken the long route home."

Her carmine lips ticked to the side and she rolled her eyes, but she didn't answer immediately, instead giving herself a final once-over in the mirror. It would do for tonight.

At last, she stepped out from behind the screen with one long, rolling stride, her voice lined with the silk of a noose. "If you took any longer, Nev, I would have had to find another gentleman to question."

This time, he didn't have a snappy comeback ready. From the bed, his good eye popped open.

She was wearing nothing but knee-high leather boots, black satin panties, the silk choker, and a tight brocade corset, with a crimson-frilled base that boldly traced the curves of her buttocks and a bodice that plunged down far below her breastbone, the deep curves of cleavage tantalizingly screened by the crisscross of scarlet string just barely holding the whole precarious piece together. Her only other calls to decency were her lipstick and expression of supreme, unapologetic command, staring down her lover strapped to the bed.

In this corner of the Continent, he wasn't about to see anymore flowing silk or coy curves jingling with coin. Though he was lucky that she decided against the riding crop in the end.

A grin spread slow and sure across Nevra's face, showing the very tips of his fangs. "…Well, well," he murmured from the pillows, his gray eye narrowing, sweeping over her from head-to-toe, and back again. "If you're about to try a little 'persuasion', my dear, I better warn you that I'm an extremely… _uncooperative_ subject. There is no interrogation technique that I haven't already seen or survived."

"That's because you've been in a human's good graces for too long," she replied, smiling back. Then she turned, hips swaying once, fingers deftly drawing her half-bun higher up her head. From the bed came a sharp hitch of breath; the Guardian smirked. She had altered the back of her underwear to nothing but a single strip tracing the cleft of her buttocks.

"So I see," Nevra breathed when she turned to him again. "Poor me." His knees, spread apart on the bed, had already tensed from watching her.

Without another word, she stepped onto the bed and stood tall on the mattress, hands on her hips, her boots astride him. And her eyes devoured him with no small relish, tied supine below her: from the silk scarves locking his wrists over his head, to the spread of his bare chest, his nipples already erect, ribs ridged with muscle flexed from the awkward position of his arms, to the firm valley of his navel, to the teasing thrust of his pelvic bone through his pants that she had insisted he wear to the bed.

His answering gaze drew slowly, voraciously, up the length of her legs, lingering on her womanhood barely concealed by thin black silk, then up to the swell of her breasts peeking over the plunging cut of the bodice. As intended.

She waited until his eye finally met hers. "Tonight, you're going to come hard before I even let you touch me."

There was a bright gleam in his eye as he accepted her challenge.

Her hips rocked, swiveled and spiraled showily as she bent lower down to him, her thighs opened wide, letting the soft flesh of her upper thighs and her secret places flash in and out of his sight. An appreciative rumble broke from his throat as his head craned forward the lower she came to his groin.

But she didn't settle there, poising herself with her buttocks just a fraction of an inch above his member, before drawing back, alighting instead in the V of his legs. Then she slid her bare knees under his, roughly pushing his thighs up and wide apart, snatching a surprised gasp and a laugh from him.

Nevra's rich laughter dissolved into a low moan when her hands pressed hard into the muscles on the inside of his thighs, massaging them in long, firm, reaching circles that ended just shy of his groin, her thumbs coyly sweeping the outside of his balls to make him shiver. The back of her mind noted that there was a lot of tension in his legs; he _had_ been running recently, though for—or from—what, she would have to learn another time. Because tonight, she meant to take him far away indeed from those perilous lands down south. And welcome him home, in her way.

His moans sharpened into a single, rough groan that rasped from the back of his throat when she bent forward and slowly kissed the bulge of his member through his pants. Outlining its shape with her mouth, adoring it, keeping her eyes– bold and unashamed– on his. Her lover sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his arms flexing overhead, and kept his gaze locked on her even with passion washing through him, refusing to waste one moment of this new game.

Under her lips, through the yielding fabric of his pants, she felt his member throb, rise, harden, the live firmness painfully constrained by his last trappings of decency. A wash of intense, masculine warmth and musk rolled across the skin of her face; an answering warmth erupted in her own sex, aching as she traced the shape of his rising member through her kisses, pressing her lips, mouth, tongue hard against his manhood, while her hands slowly, torturously massaged his balls.

If his hands were free, he could have freed them. But tonight, this was her show.

His head jerked forward from the pillows in protest when her mouth moved away. But his dazed disappointment soon gave way to pure relish when she crawled up to him, dragging her curves across his recumbent body, straddling his thigh and grinding her hot sex against his leg, sparks shooting up through her pulsing clit at the firmness of him below and between. She bent low until their noses were a mere inch apart, until she could see his pupil flex and widen with every grind of her hips.

When he reached up for a kiss, she took him by the back of his head and pulled his face instead to the swell of her breasts, commanding him to serve her as she rocked against his leg. And he obliged with a muffled groan of pleasure, pressing fierce kisses against the soft flesh of her breasts, sucking, nipping, kneading them with his mouth alone, each hot breath gusting over her flushed chest. The Guardian shuddered, her thighs tightening around his leg; her fingers twined deep into his shock of thick, dark hair as a low sigh escaped her at having him there again, his mouth against her heartbeat.

When his warm tongue flicked down lightning fast into the cleft of her breasts, and again, she laughed, surprised, and pulled him away. "Cheeky little prince, aren't you?" she remarked, then caught his mouth in hers, stilling that mischievous tongue, drinking him in, tasting him again after a month apart.

His breath swept warm and moist against her cheek when he pulled away, his voice dropping to a low growl. "Sweetheart, you know I don't need my hands to make you wet."

Now that was a pure challenge. Her eyebrows arched high. "You're awfully cocky for a hostage who hasn't even seen the real show," she replied smartly, pushing him down again into the pillows, her hand braced against his collarbone. Then she swiveled, until the full, rounded curves of her ass were facing him, the hard bulge of his erection pressing against the core of her womanhood, sending more white-hot sparks shooting up through her body.

With her legs curled on either side of his, she teasingly pushed back once, nudging him deep in the V of his groin, his sex pressing harder against hers, then flicked her tailbone up at the last moment. Behind her, his breath caught, sharpened to a razor's point.

He was a well-traveled man: a veteran of all the more discreet corners of the spy's underworld; a connoisseur of the pleasures of the flesh. But even he hadn't seen this before. A vicious smile curled across her lips as she braced her hands into the sliver of mattress between his legs, and ground into him hard and fast, breaking now and then to push her ass deep into his lap, then flicking up her hips, flashing cheek and sex to his widened eye, before dropping to grind fast and merciless into his groin again.

Beneath her, Nevra's thighs tensed immediately. His bare feet jerked, dug into the sheets, toes curling, as he fought to be his master again. But the Guardian only grinned and dug her weight harder into his lap, down and over his rock-hard member. When her hips swiveled in full, fast circles, the lips of her sex circling quick around the thick bulge of his manhood, hitting every spot, a short gasp broke from him, and his hips suddenly snapped up, sinking his penis farther than ever into her sex and the thin, yielding satin of her panties. She cried out too, his name bursting involuntarily from her lips, hands twisting the satin sheets below; behind her, he laughed breathlessly.

Unseen by him, the Guardian scowled once, wiping the slick strands of her hair away from her flushed temples. Now was the time to raise the stakes.

As his hips started rocking in time with hers, snapping up when hers did, pushing his erection hard and defiant against her womanhood, she suddenly rose again on her knees and hands, giving him a full view of her rear. The phantom pressure of his penis still throbbing into her sweet spot, she slipped aside the bare slip of her thong and plunged two fingers into the soft, moist folds of her womanhood, keeping the third grazing against her clit, back arching as she scissored herself before his gaze.

Through the warm, liquid haze of pleasure, the sweet pumping of her fingers through and against her core, she glanced back and saw the flush staining her lover's face and neck. The heaving of his chest already slick with perspiration; the muscles of his neck, shoulders, arms tensing helplessly against the restraints. His good eye opened wide and dark, staring fixatedly at her and only her, lit from within with both painful frustration and the thrill of the game. The front of his trousers was tenting high. "Come for me, darling," Nevra whispered huskily, craning forward, straining against his bonds. "Let me see you come for me."

Instead, she turned back to face him, dropping herself down onto the swell of his groin with a suddenness that pulled another thick groan from him, drawing close until the moist heat of their breaths mixed. "You first," she breathed. And she braced her hands on the hard plane of his chest, pushing him down firm onto the pillows, and ground hard, fast, mercilessly against the growing bulge of his trapped member, faster than ever, powered by her own frustration to have him inside her. But not yet. She needed to drive him to the brink tonight with this performance alone.

So she threw her head back, arched her spine, angled herself just so to grind the inner folds of her labia over the rock-hard bulge of his groin. One hand pulled down the front of her corset to free her breasts, kneading her fingers into the pressure points on the outer curves, massaging one flushed nipple in circles with the joint of her thumb, sending electric sparks shooting down from her chest and joining the golden firestorm of signals coursing through her body. Nevra whispered sweet nothings, pain threading through his voice, as she made him watch her please herself anew. The thin silk of her panties- no obstacle whatsoever between them, betraying every curve of his member and fold of her womanhood- couldn't cope with how wet she was now. Her inner thighs were slick, drenched with sweat and the first waters of her essence as she rode him, and he bucked fast from below her, taking his own vengeance with every thrust, daring her to hit the brink first.

Then she leaned forward, cradled his head in her arm again, and bit him hard on the side of his neck.

All of a sudden, his hips snapped up high and his back arched into the mattress, the back of his head burrowing deep into the pillows. A strangled groan escaped his throat, swelling into a loud, full-throated moan that shook the dark as he bucked wildly underneath her, arms straining against the silk ligatures. And she rode him with a breathless gasp, his pulse in her mouth, knees curled hard around his waist, not daring to let him go as his explosive strength coursed against her, through her, his warmth filling her bones, his force pounding against her womanhood from below until she came moments after he did, her cry of release twining through his.

And just as quickly, it was over. His long body collapsed back onto the bed, boneless, his chest heaving, beads of sweat dotting his brow and sticking his coarse black hair to his forehead. Her own body warm and liquid from her orgasm, she brought her mouth away from his neck, rearranged her legs, and pressed herself full against him, chest against chest, legs intertwined, yearning for the moist warmth of his skin, the firmness of his body now lit alive and thrumming from climax. She swept his hair from his forehead and kissed him again on his mouth, long, leisurely, and deep, drinking him in even as they both fought to recover their breath, bodies uncoiling after their powerful release.

Her free hand reached down and slipped under the hem of his pants, to the furnace warmth below. Feeling the thickness of his manhood, still stiff and throbbing, and the liquid heat of his seed caught in his clothes.

"That was not fair", Nevra breathed against her cheek once she released his mouth, his good eye still glazed, but lit alive from the last, bright echoes of pleasure.

"Says the man who couldn't stop turning heads every time he goes outside," she joked back lightly, her hand finally freeing him from the last of his clothes. Though not his hands, not just yet. Her thighs wrapped around his as she stroked his penis, fingers circling around its thickness, then sliding up and the down the length, squeezing hard around the hot, moist shaft.

His Adam's apple bobbed and he bit back another groan as she pumped him again, willing him back to full attention, while her mouth pressed kisses along the sharp angle of his jaw. But it was testament to his honed nerves that he continued to speak in a conversational tone. "...And how many of them could torture me the way you do?" he asked softly, that old, sly glint returning to his hooded eye as she played with him from below. "I'm an expert masochist; you should know that by now."

"Well, lucky me," she crooned back. "That means I'll never run out of unseemly things to do to you."

His grin flashed in the half-dark. "Now see? Why would I want to look elsewhere?"

She bent down to kiss him again in answer, reaching behind his head for the silk scarves binding his wrists to the head of the bed. Her bottom lip was sore, and he was pressing hard kisses down the length of her neck once she slipped the silken knots off his chafed wrists, and his arms surged forward and hungrily enveloped her.

She laughed as his fingers automatically reached down to slip off her wet, scanty underwear; then again when she caught them sliding further into her depths. But she reached down at last and guided his hands up to the knots at the back of her damp corset.

"Hey: first things, first. There's a lot more you have left to see tonight, darling."

 **FIN**

* * *

 _Disclaimers:_

\- The Tamarisk country is a (thinly-veiled) Levantine-inspired region I made up that's populated with Middle Eastern and pre-Islamic fey. Including the qarînah, which is the Arabian parallel of the succubus (and nowhere close to belly dancers in Arabian mythology).

\- The 'Continent' is the (generic) name I used for the landmass that includes HQ, and other neighboring, landlocked countries. Which is more or less based off of medieval European geography... as imagined by their geographers. _

At any rate. If you enjoyed this story (and even if you didn't), feel free to leave a review. I'm always open to feedback. :)


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